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Corridor Navy blue impact cushioning covers the deckplates in this 20-foot-wide, 15-foot-high corridor that stretches about 60 feet from the command hull to the cargo and engineering facilities. Overhead light strips alternate amber and white - the amber capable of serving as emergency auxiliary lights in case of general power failures. Hatches that can be sealed in case of crises such as hull breaches or biohazard releases lead to crew quarters, the medical/science center, the cargo hold and shuttle bay, a crew briefing room, and the vessel's command center. Porter steps into the corridor, wearing his atmosphere suit and carrying the helmet under his right arm. Mnelmn pauses in the center of the cooridor, setting its toolkit down with a dull thud. Newt appears to be going in the direction of the crew facilities. Porter stops near where Mnelmn has set his toolkit down, then looks toward Newt. "Cadet." Mnelmn is floating near the center of the cooridor, near its toolkit. It salutes Porter with one of the tentacles facing the Lieutenant Colonel. Newt stops and turns to face Porter, "Yes? ... Sir." He grins in a satisfied manner. DS-3633 steps out of the crew facilities with its normal drone-like gait. Porter nods to Newt. "You'll be joining the landing party on Phyrria. Suit up." He looks toward Mnelmn. "And just what are you up to, Corporal?" "Routine maintenance of the vessel's systems. I would like to request permission to join the landing party as well." Mnelmn says, flicking a tentacle to its vocalizer. Porter smiles at Mnelmn. "Granted." His attention drifts toward the Phyrrian. "Diss, you about ready?" Newt's grin widens. "Cool as. I just gotta take my jumpsuit off." and he runs to the crew facilities, coming back just in his nice, shiny suit. "Ready." OtherSpace Transmission: Brody shouts, "Now online under Seminars in the Survivor's Guide: The Spirit Guides - the Qua seminar." Mnelmn bobs slightly. It lowers and retrieves its toolkit, stashing it in a compartment in the bulkhead. DS-3633 turns toward the others as Porter addresses it. "This unit does not possess a time preference." It stops as if that's enough, then adds after about 10 seconds, "Refining answer: Present time is acceptable." Porter chuckles, nodding to DS-3633. He lifts the helmet in both hands, then lowers it over his head, snapping the seals into place and activating the rebreather. A computerized voice proclaims: "Thank you for purchasing this Fermi's Electronics component. Remember Fermi's Electronics for all your gadgetry needs!" ~I will retrieve my hovertank so that I do not dissolve.~ Mnelmn suddenly sends as it observes Porter suiting up. It floats into the cargo hold. Carlon shuffles out of the Cargo Hold with his guards, neutral expression on his face as he clinks along torward the Crew Facilities. Porter stands in the corridor with Newt and DS-3633, clad in his atmosphere suit and rebreather. Carlon is shuffling across with his guards. Carlon is shuffling torward the Crew Facilities with his usual entourage. DS-3633 watches as the people come and go. "This unit has sent notice to the Overmind that the Minerva crew will be accompanying this unit. However, I am unaware what exactly the Overmind will show this crew." The colonel nods to the Phyrrian. "Let's go find out." He smiles wryly, then steps into the cargo hold. Cargo Hold Cargo shuttling robots handle a lot of the heavy lifting in this 100-foot-square, 40-foot-high hold, which is capable of carrying several months worth of food and supplies for the ship's crew with plenty of space left over for commercial and scientific payloads. A quartermaster oversees the arrivals and departures of cargos, checking manifests to make sure that what's on the list matches what's in the crate. A wide archway, accessible by the cargo bots, leads to the ship's shuttle bay. Mnelmn is now housed in a machine that vaguely resembles a hovering, inverted, round jar. Its hovering container seems to be drifting to the left at a few inches per second, and its tentacles are busy working at the controls to correct this error. Brushtail enters from the corridor, pulling the rest of the suit on as he walks. Multitasking's not one of his strong suits, apparently, as he stops, removes the pack, and pulls the suit on all the way before replacing the pack. Moving forward again, he pauses to look at the Centauran's jar. Porter thumps across the cargo hold in his atmosphere suit. He notices the difficulties the Centauran is having and asks, "Trouble?" "There is a minor calibration issue." Mnelmn states, managing to slow the leftward slide of its hovertank. "I have corrected the matter." Its tentacles continue to manipulate the controls and it is soon drifting toward Porter. Porter nods to Mnelmn, then continues his stride toward the shuttle bay. Shuttle Bay This large chamber serves as a shuttle hangar and a cargo staging area. Warning stripes have been painted along the floor, marking out shuttle landing pads, cargo pallets and variable gravity areas. Two massive doors guard the threshold leading out of the ship. There is also a personnel airlock to the port side of the hangar doors. Mnelmn drifts in after Porter, its hoverengines whirring. Brushtail follows at the rear, moving delicately despite the pack on his back. DS-3633 walks towards the airlock and waits for the others. Porter walks up to a control panel, tapping in a code. The landing ramp descends like a gleaming metallic tongue and thumps on the pad. Outside, toxic rain splatters in puddles. He glances over his shoulder toward the Phyrrian. "Home, sweet home." DS-3633 shakes its head, "The gasses in the air form most acidic compounds. Acids tend to possess a sour taste to most races." Porter lifts his eyebrows, and seems about to respond, then just shakes his head with a chuckle and steps down the ramp. Decimated Plain A broad, flat expanse of pitted metal with stagnant, rust-hued water pooling in the dents that mar the riveted surface. From the perpetually overcast sky spills a stinging rain that irritates humanoid eyes and exposed flesh. The air is thick with the acrid odor of toxic chemical waste. The metallic plain to the east gives way to a swampy marsh of blackish-green goop that winds its way toward a range of spiky blue-gray mountain peaks in the distance. Forming a rough horseshoe around the plain is a city constructed of mix-and-match steel structures, home to a society of mechanoid sentients who get around either by hovering, ambulating on artificial appendages, rolling on wheels, easing along on tracks, or sliding on electromag skids. Porter thumps down the landing ramp, then onto the landing pad. Filmy water droplets splash on his suit and visor, then trickle in toxic rivulets. Brushtail slowly pads down the Minerva's ramp, at the rear of the Minerva group. His booted feet splash in the oily water as he walks, pausing soon after he gets onto the pad. DS-3633 steps off the Minerva and walks forward. It begins to emit something in high pitched squeels, like a fax machine. It turns to the other after it is done, "This unit was explaining our arrival to other units." Mnelmn floats off of the ramp, the base of its hovering jar six feet above the ground. It maintains its altitude for the view. The Centauran begins to offer commentary, "Digital knowlege-sharing, a viable alternative to telepathic knowlege-sharing, when no telepathic ability is present." Porter nods toward DS-3633. "Which way to the Overmind?" Newt nods, looking around, "Wow. This place sure is different." DS-3633 says "This way," as it points in a particular direction, and begins walking that way, taking the lead. Porter follows the Phyrrian, his boots splashing in water that doesn't appear sanitary at all. Mnelmn floats after DS-3633, the sudden acceleration causing its jar to wobble. Conglomerate Edifice This cavernous chamber might be considered a sort of atrium, if it contained anything green (besides oozy slime on the walls) and if the sun ever shined through the massive transparasteel dome that caps it. But nothing good and green grows from the sterile ground of this place. Instead, what seems to thrive in this environment are crops of twisty metal pipe, poles, girders and beams. Steam hisses from ruptured conduits. Low archways lead to attached modules. Newt moves on with the group, eventually, his smaller boots making higher pitched spalshes in the aforementioned water. Bootsteps echo among the splashes of water and the clinking of chains and pipes. Porter takes it all in with no small amount of wonder. "The Phyrrians actually *like* it here, Diss?" Newt answers instead as he looks around, "Phyrrians don't like or dislike." "Evidence indicates that the Phyrrians have the ability to make this location more aesthetically pleasing, yet they do not." Mnelmn notes, staying high to avoid the splashes caused by the bootsteps. Activating his comm, Brushtail interrupts. "Sir, I'm not entirely sure the Phyrrians care. It's their home, but they seem to adapt well to almost any place. They don't have a need for any of the niceties that other races like, sir." DS-3633 turns to the others as they follow. "Phyrrian tasker units do not possess emotions. This environment is not harmful to our materials. It is also the world of our origin. It is logical that we inhabit this planet." Porter nods. "Hey, one less race to worry about trying to muscle in on someone else's world. I've never had a complaint about the Phyrrians." He smiles slightly, then looks at the various archways, watching as taskers come and go on their appointed rounds. "The practice of recycling would limit species reproduction, and therefore, motiviation to expend..." Mnelmn continues to observe aloud. DS-3633 continues on to the Instruction Module. Porter follows the Phyrrian, still gazing around from time to time. Brushtail follows along, watching everything he can at once. Cultural Instruction Module Newly fabricated Phyrrians spend the first days of their existence undergoing programming in this massive facility. They jack into row after row of ports and begin the rapid process of downloading instinctive and instructional data from the core Phyrrians know as the Overmind. This chamber also serves as a sort of "food source" for the Overmind, where adult Phyrrians may return from time to time to jack in and upload collected data to share with the greater population. Porter thumps into the module, glancing around at the taskers who are busily jacking and un-jacking themselves from the various input/output nodes. Mnelmn falls silent as it enters, its hoverengines going quiet as its vehicle pauses in mid-air. An androgynous computerized voice emanates from the nearby dataport bank: "Unit Designation DS-3633 is detected." Newt just whoas and asks, "Is this it?" Porter smiles slightly. "I guess so." Brushtail blinks as he enters, pausing in mid-stride to watch, more than a little bit fascinated. DS-3633 walks towards one of the many nodes. It looks back at Newt, "This is not the whole of the Overmind, merely it's access for tasker units." It looks back toward the node. "This unit will now connect to the Overmind. Ability to communicate while connected is uncertain. "We'll wait right here," Porter says. Mnelmn remains where it is, quietly observing. DS-3633 connects to an available dataport. Newt nods and watches. Porter begins to pace slowly around the databank while DS-3633 is inactive, attached to it. His attention drifts to other units plugging in, uploading their consciousness. Brushtail remains quiet, watching in awe as the Phyrrians plug in and upload everything they posess, knowledge-wise. Newt decides that just watching is quite simply not enough, especially when others are moving about and moves about himself, mainly towards the databank. Once there he begins to examine it. An androgynous computerized voice emanates from the nearby dataport bank: "Humanoid unit will avoid physical contact." "How would the Phyrrians function if their overmind were destroyed?" Mnelmn asks aloud, floating downards. "Such an invention would seem a vulnerability." Several Phyrrian taskers disengage themselves from ports arrayed around the chamber and begin to close on Newt. Porter clenches his jaw, following the movement toward the dataport bank. "Ask a silly question..." Newt startles and straightens out, somehow looking guilty while completely incased in his suit, "Hey! I wasn't gonna touch anything..." "They are suitably protective of it." Mnelmn observes, watching with interest as the Phyrrians close in on Newt. The defensive taskers - six in all - stop several feet from the dataport bank and simply hold there, manipulator grips extended like mechanical crab claws. Brushtail remains quietly standing, though his paws come up slightly as he watches, gaze flicking quickly about the room and his person. Newt puts his hands behind him and just watches the defensive taskers right back. Porter walks back toward the dataport bank. "The kid's not going to hurt anything," he assures the taskers. One of the taskers replies: "These units will ensure that the humanoid unit complies." Mnelmn floats upwards and increases its volume to address the taskers. "Is passive scanning of the apparatus permitted?" Its vocalizer queries in its flat mechanical tones. One of the taskers replies: "Negative." Mnelmn sends another query as its first request is denied. "Is digital photography permitted?" It asks. Brushtail frowns, listening carefully. He moves forward slowly, towards Newt. He pauses, however, several meters from the youth, frowning. One of the taskers replies: "Negative." Newt just well... stands there and continues to face the taskers. Porter lifts his eyebrows, stepping closer to the taskers. "Now wait just one second - it's okay for your people to roam all over the cosmos, collecting data, snapping pictures and giving it back to your Overmind, but when outsiders show up on *your* turf, you want to play secretive? How fair is that?" One of the taskers replies: "Equanimity is not a factor." "Data is often shared when the each party reciprocates. If you refuse to allow us to learn about you, the Centaurans will be reluctant to allow you to collect data on us. I will note your uncooperative and paranoid nature in my report." Mnelmn states, curling its tentacles beneath itself and radiating annoyance. DS-3633 disconnects from the Overmind. Porter shakes his head, sighing. The six tasker units surrounding Newt continue their sentry duty, stubbornly remaining silent. DS-3633 steps away from the input node, turning its head to assess the situation. Newt nods to Mnelmn and says, "Same here." Porter glances toward DS-3633. "Welcome back." He doesn't sound pleased. Brushtail continues inching forward, towards Newt. He activates his comm. "Cadet, I might suggest that you back off. Phyrrians are neutral, but I don't think they're going to let you touch anything important. They wouldn't understand the meaning of bravado or a staring match." DS-3633 tilts its head and walks towards the group, "Please elaborate on present situation." Porter chuckles darkly, gesturing toward the sentries. "Newt wanted to get a look at the dataport bank. The Overmind took offense and woke up these guys, who have since refused to let us so much as take a digital image of this place. Hardly the right attitude for a curious race like the Phyrrians, who are all about gathering data from *everybody else*." "It is aware that we are unarmed. My analysis indicates that we would have difficulty harming the equipment without suitable weapons or tools." Mnelmn vocalizes. DS-3633 nods its head, "The Overmind is unsure of your intentions. It is often required to request permission before taking an action. It is likely that you will be allowed to gather images." It turns to the sentries and says something in their binary language. "I have requested that these units allow image gathering." The sentries lift their cranial units in unison, like dogs responding to some far off sound, and then their cranial units lower in unison before the sentries drop their arms at their sides, turn one hundred and eighty degrees and hiss-thump their way back toward their data nodes. An androgynous computerized voice emanates from the nearby dataport bank: "Data acquisition is approved." Newt says, "Neat-o." and looks up at DS, "Thanks." Mnelmn decides to press its luck. It tilts its jar toward the dataport bank and tries to make a request. "This unit has requested that passive scans for the purpose of data gathering be permitted." DS-3633 tilts its head at Mnelmn, "You are not a tasker unit..." An androgynous computerized voice emanates from the nearby dataport bank: "Passive scans are permitted." Porter nods slowly, then looks toward DS-3633. "So, you vouch for us and we're in good with the Overmind?" He smiles. "The Ri'Kammi called Jobe once stated that the humans have a saying: When in Rome, do as Romans do." Mnelmn says. It opens up its scanning unit and begins to scan the databanks from a distance. DS-3633 nods its head, "That is a correct assessment Colonal Porter." "And what would happen if you *didn't* vouch for us?" the colonel inquires. DS-3633 pauses, "Unknown. It is likely you would be escorted back to the Minerva. If you showed signs of resistance, violence is a possiblity." Porter nods. "Good to know." He looks around. "We done here?" Mnelmn closes up its scanner and bobs an affirmative. "I am finished." DS-3633 nods its head, "This unit has completed its task." Porter chuckles. "All right. Well, you're all welcome to participate in shore leave on Phyrria as long as you've got Diss to guide you. We'll be leaving by the end of the week. Destination: Classified, for now." Newt's kinda someplace else at the moment, looking things over as he does. Mnelmn floats away from the databanks carefully and pauses, waiting for the others to begin their departure. Brushtail nods, remaining quiet as he stands. After several moments, he turns and begins moving towards the exit, slowly. Porter starts walking toward the exit. DS-3633 follows along with the rest. Turning back, "Cadet Newt, will you be remaining?" Mnelmn floats after Porter, seeming eager to exit. category:Classic OtherSpace Logs